His Bairn & Burden
by Vita-in-charta
Summary: Sequel to 'This Wretched Affection'. Five years after her last encounter with Jim Moriarty, Molly is safe within witness protection, still guarding her life and her secrets. But Molly has a new weakness; Poppy, her 5-year-old daughter. There is only so much the world can do to keep two souls apart, and fate may favor Jim Moriarty. Molliarty, 5 years after HLV.
1. Chapter 1

_"We'll meet again,_

_Don't know where, don't know when,_

_But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day."_

* * *

November 24, 5 Years Later

Northern Scotland

_Sebastian. They've found me._

Molly yanked the phone cable from the wall, knocking loose bits of plaster and chips of paint onto the floor. _No. No, no. Not now. Not after all we've been through._ Years of blending in, hiding herself, raising Poppy from modest government funds. Everything she did, all a waste. Her heart seemed to freeze and plummet into her stomach. _How does he know about Poppy?_

"Poppy, come inside!" She did her best to mask the anxiety in her voice, but Poppy frowned, concerned. She obeyed without protest, scampering into the warmth of the house out of the fading evening chill. Molly locked the door after her. For a moment she gazed at the horizon, scanning the hills and bunches of trees for any sign of movement. Nothing. She pulled down the curtain.

"Mum, can we have just a wee bit of cake now?" Poppy bounced on the balls of her feet in the kitchen, eyeing the frosted pink cake eagerly.

"Poppy, please. After dinner." Poppy pushed her lips out in an unconvincing pout. Molly's chest panged. _You look so much like him…_ Poppy shrugged. She turned on her heel and skipped to her room, singing under her breath.

"_Mary, Mary, quite contrary. How does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row…_"

When her voice faded, Molly pulled out her mobile and dialed a number, mouthing the sequence to herself. She typed a single word and pressed send; _Alastor._ Nothing happened. She didn't know what to expect. She hadn't seen Sherlock or John in five years, who was to say that hadn't forgotten about her? The phone beeped.

_Delivery failed._

"No." She pressed it again.

_Delivery failed._

"Shit, shit, _shit._"

She squeezed the plastic and it squeaked in protest. He slim fingers turned white. _This is him,_ she thought. _Sebastian did this._ She bit her lip, feeling cold, terrified, realization. _He's going to cut us off._ Of course he would, it was the logical thing to do. He could sever all communications, prevent them from leaving, and effectively keep her captive in her own home. She had to be ready.

* * *

Poppy twirled her fork in her spaghetti, wrapping the red-stained noodles around the tines before maneuvering the bundle of pasta into her mouth. Molly watched her and smiled.

"Did you find any new flowers today?"

"Aye," Poppy grinned. "I found a bog star on the moor, and poppies."

"Do you want to put them in your book?" Poppy nodded excitedly.

On Poppy's fourth birthday, Molly had given her a blank book and a flower press. Since then, Poppy's mission had been to fill it with the loveliest wild flowers she could find. The pages were stocked with heather, wild roses, and various blossoms from fruit trees around the house.

"How's school?" Molly put down her fork and sipped her water. Poppy was in her first year of primary school in the nearest town.

"Good." Her liquid brown eyes flashed with excitement. Molly's grip on her glass tightened. Molly loved Poppy more than anything, but she couldn't help hating her eyes. Her father's eyes.

* * *

_His hands glided over her skin, ice forming in her veins and a fire igniting in her heart. He pushed his lips hard against hers._

_ "Jim," Molly breathed, pulling him closer. His hand curled around her throat. "Jim, stop." He squeezed and bared his teeth._

_ "Ask me nicely."_

_ "Please, Jim." Lights popped in her eyes. Her arms fell to her sides. She closed her eyes. "Just do it then." The grip released and air rushed back into her lungs. Her eyes flew open. Jim was gone, the lights in the house burnt out. A floorboard creaked, and she turned to face it. Jim smiled at her from the shadows. He looked down, and there was Poppy. He placed a hand on her shoulder._

_ "Just like dad."_

_ Molly opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Jim raised an arm, gun in hand, and fired. The bullet tore into her shoulder and she fell back. His voice spoke into her ear, soft and sweet:_

_ "Did I give you permission do die?"_

"No!" Molly tore the blankets away from her legs and staggered out of her bed. His voice echoed around the room. _It's all in your head, he's not here._

She rummaged in her dresser and sighed when she found it: Her Glock 21 Gen4, and 5 boxes of ammunition. Her stock had dwindled in the five years she'd had to practice her shot. _It'll have to do._ She checked the magazine, then tucked the gun into her waistband. _They've found us. They'll come soon._ She stared out the window. The sun had only just begun to rise. The high green hills were grey and inky black, ice blue where they met the sky. _Let them come,_ she thought. _I'm not scared of him anymore._


	2. Chapter 2

_"Well, make sure to build your heart_

_Brick by boring brick,_

_Or the wolf's going to blow it down."_

* * *

_November 24, Five Years Previous_

"You can never contact anyone from your old life again. If you do, you will lead him directly to you. You will be given a new name, of course, but lets not take any chances."

Molly nodded. The lights above her hospital bed hurt her eyes, so she cast them reluctantly upon the bundle in her arms. _My baby_, she thought._ His baby._ A tear fell on the pink blanket. Molly looked up and met John's eyes. He gave her a wan smile.

"Decided on a name yet?"

Molly shook her head.

"Ms Hooper, if I may have your attention," Mycroft sneered from across the room. "We have very little time."

"Yes, I'm sorry."

"We've found a place for you in Scotland. A small town, only the usual people nosing around in other people's business. You'll just be another single mother running away from her problems." Sherlock scowled at him, and Mycroft smirked back. "It'll be a new start," He added, softening. "We can't hold Moriarty for much longer without due cause, since no charges will be brought against him. Even my influence has a limit."

Sherlock's dark eyes locked on the sleeping infant in Molly's lap. He hadn't spoken to her for months. John coughed uncomfortably.

"Sherlock, fancy a walk?"

Sherlock said nothing, but followed John into the hall. Mycroft wasted no time in their absence.

"Ms Hooper, I cannot overstate the importance of your discretion. Only in the most dire situations can you risk contacting anyone." His eyes became darker and his voice deepened. "In the event of your discovery, you will send a text to Sherlock, using a code word you will receive later. Then you must protect yourself. I cannot guarantee we will be able to get to you in time to defend you in a crisis." Molly swallowed, a weight pressing down on her chest, and nodded. "Once you go undercover, you will be on your own. Can you handle that?"

"Yes," She looked down at her child, pink and soft. "For Poppy, I can."

* * *

_Present Day_

Molly didn't even bother calling Poppy's school to explain her absence. She had thrown the landline out, but her mobile sat on the kitchen table, the camera and microphone taped over. She wasn't taking any chances.

Poppy was in the living room, sprawled across the carpet with an array of books spread around her; _A Guide to Scottish Lochs_, _Queens of England &amp; Scotland_, and _Water Fowl of Great Britain_. She hummed to herself and flicked through the glossy pages, staring at the pictures and waving her legs over her back in magenta corduroy pants.

"Mum, I want to be Queen of the Scots," She shouted over her shoulder. She smiled affectionately at a portrait of Mary Stuart. "I want to be like _her_."

Molly slid to the floor next to Poppy and gazed at the portrait seriously. She propped herself up on an elbow and draped her arm over Poppy's shoulders.

"Queen of the Scots?" Poppy nodded. "You, know, we already have a queen."

Poppy stuck her tongue out. "But she's _English._ I want to be queen of Scotland." Her eyes blazed with excitement. A stray lock of dark brown hair fell between her eyes. Molly tucked it behind her ear.

"Then I will follow you into the battle for your kingdom."

A light in the corner of Molly's eye flickered. They both turned to look up at the TV across the room, which had turned itself on. Molly's blood went cold. The screen flickered and glitched, but the image upon it remained constant: Molly and Poppy, arms wrapped around each other in a happy embrace, the house blurred behind them.

"Why are we on the telly?" Poppy rolled onto her back. Molly said nothing. Her mind had gone blank. _I didn't take that picture_. "Mum?" Poppy tugged on her pant leg. Molly stumbled forward and wrenched open the front door. Winter air bit her nose and ears, but she ignored it. She whirled around, whisps of hair flying over her eyes as she scanned the landscape. The sun peeped over the horizon, hanging onto the sky with fingers of yellow light.

"I know you can see me," She shouted. "I know you can hear me." Her voice cracked and she balled her fists tightly. "Leave us alone, Jim. I swear to God, just _leave us alone_." Behind her, the door creaked open and Poppy called out to her.

"There's music now!"

Molly stared at the road winding away from the house. She hunched her shoulders against the cold and turned back. Just as Poppy had said, music floated through the open doors to Molly's ears, growing louder as she approached.

_'Cause baby,_

_There ain't no mountain high enough,_

_Ain't no valley low enough,_

_Ain't no river wide enough,_

_To keep me from getting to you, babe._

Poppy spun in circles with her eyes closed, smiling gleefully.

_What are you playing at, Jim?_

Molly swore under her breath, reached around the back of the TV, and yanked the cord out of its place. The music stopped abruptly and Poppy frowned with disappointment.

"Why'd you stop it?"

Molly pulled herself together with every bit of strength she had. She reached for Poppy's hand and held it tightly.

"Poppy, let's talk for a minute. Let's talk about your dad."

* * *

"Do you remember the story about Little Red Riding Hood?" Molly asked. Poppy smiled and nodded.

"The big bad wolf pretended to be her gran," Poppy said, making claws with her fingers. Molly smiled weakly.

"That's right." She sat on the floor and crossed her legs. Poppy did the same, still clinging to her mother's hand. "Your dad is just like the big bad wolf."

Poppy's smile faded. "What?"

"He lies," Molly urged. "He lies to good people, like Red Riding Hood, so he can get what he wants." Poppy's eyes clouded with fear. "Poppy, your dad might look nice, he might be nice to you, but you can't trust him. He's bad."

"Dad's not here, mum," Poppy shook her head and squeezed Molly's hand. "He won't hurt us, will he?"

"You might meet him very soon," Molly pulled Poppy to her chest and rested her chin on her head. "Don't listen to what he says. He'll hurt you if he gets the chance. I'll protect you, I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

_"Hey there Little Red Riding Hood,_

_You sure are looking good._

_You're everything a big bad wolf could want."_

* * *

The silence in the house was deafening. Something was out of place.

Molly shoved her weight against her bed until it bumped against the wall across the room. Beads of sweat dripped from her forehead. She ran her hands along the smooth wood floor until she felt the indent, and pressed hard. A latch clicked, and she pulled a large section of the floor away to reveal the metal door beneath. She opened it and sighed with relief; passports, a wad of freshly printed currency, and 20 boxes of ammunition. She removed half of the boxes of bullets, then replaced the wood panel and slid her bed back into place.

* * *

The grip of her Glock grew slick in her grip. She curled her toes to keep them warm. The heating in the house was always spotty.

_He's coming. He's coming tonight._

She glanced at her watch. It was well past midnight. The house was dark, and Poppy slept in her room, peaceful and blissfully ignorant. Molly's eyelids grew heavy. They had almost drifted shut when she spotted a tiny pinprick of red light resting on the wall. She jerked awake and slid from her chair. She backed against the wall, out of the view of the front windows.

The light moved slowly, drifting across the wall, then back to its origin. Molly held her breath. _In front of the house,_ she thought. _How many?_

From outside, she heard car doors open and close. _Two cars._ She could almost feel their eyes on her; feel their breath down her neck. Gravel crunched, growing closer. Molly inhaled deeply, then sprung into action.

With one hand she pulled the front door open, just enough to point her gun through the crack, and fired three shots towards the dimmed headlights of the cars.

_ Three cars,_ she thought, mentally admonishing herself. Shouts followed her shots, and she slammed the door shut, positioning herself behind the sofa. Several seconds passed, and a barrage of gunfire pounded the house. The bullets tore through the thick wood of the front door, and the windows shattered on impact. Molly wrapped her arms around her head. She lunged forward and rested her elbows on the back of the sofa, firing through the empty window frame. The darkness made it impossible to see, but she could hear her shots contact the cars, and the angry shouts of a familiar voice.

More red lights appeared, searching for her in the darkness. She ducked behind the sofa and forced bullets into the magazine. Bullets drove into the wall and sofa, missing her by inches. She was outnumbered and outgunned.

She scrambled from the living room towards Poppy's door. The bed was empty. Something squeaked from under the bed. Poppy's head emerged.

"What's happening?" Tears ran down her tiny face.

"Poppy, let's go. We're leaving." She held out her hand, struggling to keep her voice calm. More shouts from the front garden. "Hurry, Poppy!" Poppy slid out from beneath her bed and grabbed Molly's hand. She pulled Poppy along with her, gun arm outstretched and ready, towards the back door. Poppy's hand squeezed Molly's with surprising strength. Molly opened the door and pushed Poppy out into the darkness, tearing her from her hand. Poppy cried out in fear.

"No," Molly whispered fiercely. "Poppy, I need you to run. Run as fast as you can until you get to town, then go find the police."

"No, I can't," Poppy sobbed.

"I know you can. I'll see you soon, ok?" She drew an x over her heart. "I promise. I'll protect you from the baddies." Poppy hesitated. "I love you," Molly whispered. Poppy turned and disappeared into the darkness. Molly swallowed her fear and moved back into the living room.

She peered around the corner and waited. The front door shook with a resounding bang, again and again as someone kicked the door fiercely. There was a shout of frustration, then a bullet shot through the locks. The door flew open and heavy boots shuffled inside. Molly waited, listening. Finally, she rounded the corner, finger on the trigger and - _CRACK! _ A fist hit her square in the nose. She toppled backwards, her gun flying from her hand, and landed on the floor. Someone laughed above her. Blood gushed from her nose, and her whole face throbbed with pain.

"Where's the girl?"

Molly looked up and frowned. "You're not Sebastian," she blurted, pressing her hands against her nose.

"No?" He aimed a swift kick of his heavy boot at her, hitting her in the side. "Where's the girl?"

Molly rolled on the floor and moaned. "She's not here."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it." He slid a magazine into his rifle and stomped to Poppy's bedroom. She heard him swear loudly. Molly allowed herself a small smile and pushed her broken nose back into place with a sickening crack. He stormed back into the room, his arm pulled back for a blow, but stopped suddenly.

"Hear that?"

Molly listened. She heard it too. Screaming. The sound pierced through her heart like a blade. The man smiled.

Molly jumped to her feet but he pushed her roughly to her knees.

"You just stay put." He pressed the barrel of his rifle to her neck.

The screams grew louder, then were replaced with anguished sobs. Molly bit her lip and pressed her hands to her face._ This is all my fault._ The back door flew open, and there he was, M16 in one hand, and Poppy's hair in another.

"Pleasure to see you again, Molly," Sebastian smiled. "Your daughter is a delight." He tugged on her hair sharply, and Poppy screamed. "Children should be seen, not heard."

"Stop!" The barrel of the rifle dug into her neck. "Let her go, please!"

Sebastian frowned. "Let's not get too hasty here." A floorboard creaked and Sebastian glanced at something Molly couldn't see.

"Sebastian, that's not how we treat ladies."

Molly's heart shattered. _I'm finished._

"Up up, Molly," He sang. The barrel lifted from her skin, and she stood hesitantly, eyes locked on Poppy. Sebastian loosened his grip on Poppy's hair. She took a step towards Molly, but Sebastian grabbed her arm.

A shape blocked her view of Poppy, dark blue fabric and a charcoal-grey wool coat. He tapped her chin, forcing her eyes up to his.

"Hey sexy," Jim grinned maliciously. "Long time no see."

Though it had been an eternity since their last meeting, Molly was surprised by how little Jim had changed. His dark hair, slightly graying at the temples, was slicked back, his suit impeccably fitted, and his lips twisted in a wicked smile. His eyes gleamed maliciously, but carried a weight behind them, like he hadn't slept in months.

He reached for her shoulder. Molly took a step backwards, but stopped at the bite of cold metal. Jim smirked. His fingers danced across her neckline and pulled the fabric down, revealing the pale scar upon her shoulder.

"Yeah, it's you alright," He laughed. Molly clenched her jaw tightly. "Nothing? No touching speech, no 'oh Jim, how I've missed you!'" He mimicked her voice and laughed. When she said nothing, he shrugged complacently. "You're probably waiting for the make-up sex, aren't you?"

Molly snarled furiously and lunged for his neck. He sidestepped away from her. The gunman behind her grabbed her arm and wrapped his own around her neck. Jim turned to Poppy.

"And who is this lovely thing?" He knelt before Poppy, his voice softening. "Are you Poppy?" Poppy hesitated, then nodded curtly. "I thought so," He said, nodding. "Happy birthday, love." Poppy's eyes widened. She glanced at Molly, and tugged against Sebastian's grasp.

"Now, just settle down. You don't want to ruin your first day with your daddy, do you?" He grinned, baring his teeth wolfishly. Poppy glared at him viciously.

"I hate you," she snarled. She abandoned any trace of an English accent and shouted in his face. "I hate you, and don't touch my mum again!"

Jim turned to Molly. "Scottish? You let her be Scottish?" He rolled his eyes. "Better than English." He jumped to his feet and straightened his jacket. "Let's get started."

* * *

Jim had brought with him a small army of snipers and armed thugs. They trampled through Molly's house, searching for weapons while she and Poppy sat in the kitchen under the Sebastian's watchful eye. Poppy buried her face in Molly's shoulder and trembled silently. Jim never took his eyes from her, contemplating her with bemused curiosity. Molly avoided his eyes at all cost.

_There's so much of him in her, he'll ruin her._

"Sir," Another of Jim's men appeared and handed him a bag. It was Molly's passport, money, and gun. Jim raised an eyebrow.

"I'm impressed. They really had you ready for anything." He opened a passport and snorted. "Rosemary Evans. Cute."

Molly said nothing. Jim waited, growing impatient. "You're looking good," he mused. Molly was unsure if this was genuine compliment or an attempt to draw her out. Either way, it felt like a trap.

"I do my best," She said carefully.

"I can see that." His shoulders relaxed slightly. "I have to hand it to you, you've done well. Five years in the wilderness, all alone. How did you manage?"

"A woman has her ways."

Jim's eyes dropped to the floor. He bit his lip, concealing his smile. "Out," He said sharply, gesturing at Sebastian. "We need some alone time." Sebastian shuffled out obediently.

"So." Jim pulled a chair from the table and sat down, arms folded over his navy suit jacket. "Let's talk."

"What could you possibly have to say?" Molly spat. Poppy jumped slightly. Molly held her tighter. "You tried to kill me."

"You tried to kill me too, if I remember right," he answered. "I've come to meet my daughter."

"_Your daughter?"_ Molly laughed sardonically. "You're funny Jim, _so funny."_

"I am, aren't I?" His eyes gleamed dangerously. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today." He laughed to himself. "Mummy and Daddy together again."

"You are unbelievable," She hissed. Poppy squirmed in her grasp and peeked at Jim. He winked.

"Don't," Poppy said firmly.

"God, she's just like you," Jim raised an eyebrow at Molly. "But more… Scottish." He smiled at Poppy, but she only scowled at him. Molly caught a glimpse pain in his eyes, but brushed it aside. _He's manipulating you._ After a moment of silence, Jim stood and left the room without a word. Molly exhaled and shuddered.

Poppy sniffed. "Is he really my dad?"

"Yes, Poppy," Molly affirmed. "He is."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Welcome to your life._

_There's no turning back._

_Even while we sleep, we will find you_

_Acting on your best behavior."_

* * *

Jim spent the rest of the day moving into Molly's house and barking orders to his men. He had the shattered windows replaced, new locks put on the door, and a 24-hour rotating guard system put in place all over the house. There were eyes on Molly at all times, usually Sebastian's. All of the kitchen knives and potential weapons were promptly removed.

"Can't be to careful," Jim had said, tapping his shoe impatiently. "We both know that _you_ have a history!" His eyes gleamed with wicked excitement. He finally had her. After five years, he had her within his grasp again. Molly felt suffocated.

Poppy maintained her distrust of Jim and Sebastian. She said nothing when they were around and refused to leave Molly's side. Even when Jim begged her, she only gave him venomous glares and buried her face in Molly's leg.

As happy as this made Molly, she could not ignore the flashes of pain she saw behind his eyes each time Poppy scorned him. Had Poppy done the same to her, she would never recover. _He deserves it,_ she thought_._ _None of this would have happened without him._

But Jim rarely left them alone, so Poppy isolated herself in her own mind. It hurt Molly to watch her detach herself, and it hurt even more when Jim became concerned. He regarded her as a puzzle to be solved. _Just like Sherlock,_ Molly thought, amused. But the longer she went without speaking, the more frustrated he became.

"Molly, make her say _something,_" he ordered. Poppy stared vacantly ahead of her from the kitchen floor, arms wrapped around her knees.

"I can't _make_ her do anything, Jim," She said. "She won't if she's scared. Her home was just invaded. She's lucky her nose wasn't broken too."

Jim's jaw tightened. "Who broke your nose?" He looked at the bruises forming on her face. "WHO?" He shouted. Poppy flinched.

"I don't know, the one who had his gun on my neck when you got here," Molly said, frustrated. "I've realigned it, it'll be fine-"

"Sebastian!" Jim shouted over her. Sebastian appeared, his gun slung over his shoulder. "Duncan is fired. Get rid of him." Sebastian nodded and vanished around the corner, shouting to someone outside. Jim rubbed his forehead and sighed.

From outside, a gunshot rang out and echoed over the hills. Molly's head felt heavy.

"You haven't changed at all."

* * *

Molly put Poppy to bed, Sebastian watching from the doorway.

Poppy smiled meekly. "I love you."

"I love you too," Molly whispered back. She kissed her cheek, and turned, concealing her pained flinch. She switched off the light and allowed Sebastian to lead her to her bedroom.

Jim was waiting for her. He was seated on the bed, his suit jacket discarded on the floor. He loosened his tie and grinned at her.

"You can't be serious." Molly halted in the doorway. He threw his tie on the floor and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Would you rather sleep with Sebastian?" A chill ran up Molly's spine. She shook her head. "Didn't think so," Jim smirked. Sebastian pushed her roughly and shut the door behind her._ Really trapped._

"Just the two of us," Jim chimed. He pulled off his shirt, exposing the lean muscles of his arms and chest. Molly swallowed dryly. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear herself breathing. Finally, she steeled herself and undressed.

"About time," Jim muttered. Molly ignored him and slipped under the covers, her back to him. She shut her eyes and tried to drown him out, but all she could hear was his breathing. She felt every move he made, each time he shifted his weight, making the mattress dip and bounce. Finally, he turned off the light and joined her. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her neck, and willed her heart to beat slower. He rolled onto his side, inches away from her back. His hand glided over her bare waist.

"Be very careful," he whispered, his breath hot on her neck. "Or I will take Poppy away from you, and you'll never see her again. Got it?" Molly nodded. "Good," he said. He pulled her tightly against him, his smooth chest pressing against the bare skin of her back. "Just like old times."

* * *

When Jim's breaths became slow and even, Molly pushed his arm off her, placing it delicately on the sheets, and inched off the bed. His face was buried in the pillow, frowning slightly in his sleep. She stole one more glance at him before tiptoeing to Poppy's room.

Poppy moaned as Molly lifted her from the tangle of blankets.

"Quiet, sweetheart," Molly whispered. She held Poppy against her chest, her tiny legs dangling at her sides. The house was silent, the shadows still in the moonlight. Nothing stirred as she drifted to the door, turning each of the locks until they clicked open.

"Going somewhere?"

Molly's hand froze on the last lock. Her courage wavered. She strained to keep her voice steady. "Just a midnight walk."

"I see."

Molly let her hand fall back to her side and turned to face Sebastian's voice. He stood in the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her with a frighteningly amused expression. "Back to bed then." Molly opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her cheeks burned with shame._ So this is defeat._

Sebastian didn't follow her back to Poppy's room. He knew just as well as she did that she wouldn't try again. Five years ago she would have, but back then she didn't have anything to lose.

She knew Jim would be waiting for her before she opened the door. He sat on the foot of the bed, face in shadows, hands covering his face.

"This better not happen again, Molly."

"It won't."

"Good," he said. He jerked his head at the bed. "Now." She obeyed without protest. What else could she do? He had her right where he wanted her. The best she could do was give him what he wanted, and maybe Poppy would be safe.

_I might not be so lucky._

He wrapped his arm around her neck this time. Her pulse beat wildly against it, and she could feel him smiling into her hair. She stared at the wall, counting her breaths until she fell into a fitful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_"__And I find it kinda funny, I find kinda sad._

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had."_

* * *

Before the sun had hardly risen, Jim was awake and dressing himself. With little morning light coming from the window, his face was cast in sinister, grey shadows. He gave Molly a seductive wink, and was gone. She watched him saunter from the house through the window. He paused and spoke to Sebastian and a cluster of his men for a moment before sliding into his black Mercedes and pulling away.

* * *

Molly and Poppy were confined to the living room. Molly curled up on the sofa, and Poppy sat on the floor, silently thumbing through _Queens of England &amp; Scotland_. Her eyes wandered away from the pages and out the window.

"Can I go outside?" She inched towards Molly and leaned on her legs.

"Not today, Poppy." Molly smiled half-heartedly. "You can play inside today."

"Why?" Her face fell.

"Because your dad and Sebastian won't let us outside," Molly said quietly.

"Can you ask them, please?" Her voice was quiet and pleading. Poppy could handle her father's bravado, but Sebastian terrified her. Molly thought for a moment. Finally, she pinched Poppy's nose, told her to stay put, and abandoned the safety of the living room.

Sebastian was in the kitchen, a cigarette between his lips, gun and mobile on the table, and his face set in a bored scowl. His displeasure deepened when Molly approached him.

"No," he said, blowing out a stream of smoke.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to, and the answer is no." Ashes fell onto the table and he brushed them to the floor.

"Poppy wants to go outside."

"That's nice." He closed his eyes and took a long drag on his cigarette. Molly's hands balled into fists.

"She needs to go outside, she's a _child._" Her pent up anger began to cloud her judgment. Sebastian sighed and flicked the cigarette to the floor, putting it out with his boot.

"If you keep this up, I'll break your nose again." He spread his arms and sneered. "You're under my jurisdiction today."

Both of their eyes flicked to the mobile phone at the table. Sebastian moved fast, but Molly moved faster. She swiped the phone to life and dialed the first contact on the list, praying that this move was worth the risk. Sebastian shouted angrily and lunged for her. She spun away from him, sidestepping until the table was between them.

"I'll put it on speaker for you," she huffed. Sebastian fumed, his chest heaving with fury. Then the call connected.

"What?" Jim's voice was low and stern.

"Jim, Poppy wants to go outside." There was a minute of silence. Molly pictured his expression change from vague irritation to blind fury.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" He annunciated each syllable carefully, his rage dripping from his words.

"Your daughter has been kept inside all day. She's just a child," Molly chose her words with care. "Please, Jim."

Silence.

"No. Here is what's going to happen; I'm going to pretend you didn't just do this and-"

"Please."

Molly froze. It was Poppy. She stood in the doorway, her face set with determination, her book clutched to her chest. "Please," she said again, ignoring Molly's horrified expression. "I promise I'll be good."

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.

"Alright," Jim finally said. Molly released her breath. "Fine. Don't mess this up Molly." She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her. It didn't matter. He made a noncommittal, angry noise, then the line went dead.

Sebastian looked like he wanted to throttle her. _One victory at a time_, she thought.

* * *

Poppy danced in the grass several yards away, bathed in afternoon sunlight, cries of delight escaping her. Molly watched from nearer the house. Watching her daughter in such innocent happiness left a dull ache in Molly's chest. Nothing was certain now. Molly didn't believe Jim would hurt Poppy, but there was worse he could do. _Not all wounds leave a mark._

Gravel crunched and a car door slammed behind her. She closed her eyes and counted each footstep.

_5…6…7…8…9…10…_

Poppy started humming to herself.

His arm wrapped around her waist. Her muscles tensed. The loose flaps of his coat flapped over her shoulders, letting his body heat drift onto her cold skin.

"She's smart," he said.

"I know." She opened her eyes.

"Like you," he said quietly. Molly said nothing, but felt keenly aware of his proximity to her. He leaned in closer. His lips almost touched her neck…

"Stop," Molly cried, pulling away. Poppy looked up and froze at the sight of her father. Molly lowered her voice. "What are you doing?"

"Whatever I want," he stated matter-of-factly. Their eyes locked, each one daring the other to back down. Molly blinked and looked away. Her face burned with shame._ Don't be stupid._ Jim took her arm and pulled her towards the glowing windows of the house, his lips parted in a satisfied smile. "Let's have a proper chat."

* * *

"I think you understand what will happen to you if you do anything foolish," Jim said. He pulled a white t-shirt over his head and seated himself on the bed next to Molly.

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"Good." He rubbed his mouth with his hand and laughed, looking at Molly with blunt curiosity. "So. How badly did you want to kill me? Or were you to drunk to remember."

"I don't…" She clenched her fists. Images of hot blood and the glint of a knife flashed behind her eyes. "I had no choice."

"Really?" He was angry now. His voice trembled slightly and his jaw muscles hardened. "You had no choice but to stick a kitchen knife in me. What did I do?"

"I…" Molly couldn't finish. The words caught in her throat. After years of trying to convince herself that she had done the right thing, her resolve waivered. "You would have killed me." She cringed at her own cowardice.

"Quit using that excuse, it's pathetic."

"Don't pretend that you didn't plan on it," Molly spat back.

"I was trying to protect you." His voice rose.

"From who?" She shouted, glaring at him fiercely. "You were the only one trying to hurt me!"

"From yourself! And everyone who tried to get to me by hurting you!"

Molly stared at him, stunned. Brief images of King's Cross station burned behind her eyes. She rose from the bed and rubbed her face. Jim stood, watching her, his lip curled.

"And what about _him_?" Jim's voice dripped with hatred. "_Sherlock."_

"I don't love him, if that's what you mean," she said. "I only meant…. It wasn't real."

"It was pretty convincing," he fumed. His eyes burned with anger and hurt.

"Jealous?" Molly goaded. Jim scoffed.

"Not in the least." He shook his head, suddenly growing serious. "When did you know you were pregnant?"

For a moment, Molly couldn't answer. She remembered the panic and shame, Sherlock's face turning to stone, months of torture that followed. _How many times did I change my mind before it was too late? I didn't have to keep her._

"Later," she said finally. "You were gone by then." He nodded, biting his lip.

"If I'd have known-" He took a step away from her. "I could have…"

"Well, its too late now, Jim."

* * *

_She knocked softly on the door, smiling with eager anticipation. After a moment, the door opened. She took a step forward into the unlit room, picturing herself in his arms again. She opened her mouth to speak, and felt a searing pain in her abdomen. She dropped to the floor, clutching the knife with her hands, hot blood seeping into her clothes. The light flicked on and she looked up into the handsome face._

_ "Please, where's Jim?" She pleaded._

_ Hugo said nothing. His face contorted in a pained smile. Molly pulled the knife from her flesh and watched the blood flow freely._

_ "Coward," he spat. He took the bloody knife from her. Molly let herself fall to the floor, staring into Hugo's colorless face._

_ "I'm sorry," she whispered._

_ "I know." He gripped the knife tightly and plunged it towards her heart._

* * *

Molly awoke to her own screaming. She thrashed in the blankets, damp with her sweat. _My blood, _her mind insisted, _my blood is everywhere._ Her chest heaved with labored breath.

"Molly, stop! Calm down!" Jim touched her shoulder lightly, and Molly jerked away, nearly falling off the bed. "It's just me," he urged. She stared at him, her mind racing too fast to register his face. _Who?_ "Molly," he said again, cupping her face in his hands. "Look at me."

"I'm sorry," she breathed. Her fingers brushed against his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he said. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head. Then his arms were around her. He let her head fall onto his shoulder, his hand buried in her hair. Her arms encircled his waist instinctively. Her armor cracked. Tears fell down her face, thick and heavy. For the first time in five years, Molly let the tears fall unashamedly.


	6. Chapter 6

_"What a wicked game you play, you make me feel this way._

_What a wicked thing to do, make me dream of you."_

* * *

When Jim insisted that Poppy go to school the next morning, Molly accepted on the condition that Jim's men left as well.

They packed themselves into their cars and vanished without a word. Sebastian lingered, whispering to Jim for a few moments before nodding resolutely and following in his own black car.

"They won't be back," Jim said to Molly, turning his back to the window. "But Sebastian will be nearby." He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Walk with me."

* * *

Molly tucked her chin deep into the folds of her scarf, bracing herself against the chill. Jim's arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him. The trail he had found lead towards the hills and patches of trees north of the house. Molly tended to avoid them.

"She's a lot like you," Molly said. "She's smart. She hates being told what to do." Jim laughed softly. "And she has your eyes."

"Hmm."

"Its awful."

Jim stopped. "What do you mean?"

Molly took a few steps further, letting his arm fall from her side, and kicked a rock off the path. She looked back at Jim. His breath made clouds of mist rise towards the grey sky. Molly regretted saying anything at all. "I mean," she said, rubbing her numb fingers together, "I saw you every time I looked at her. I hated it. It was hard, for a while…"

"Molly-"

"But I love her," Molly interrupted, smiling. "She doesn't have to be…" She trailed off, unwilling to finish. _She doesn't have to be like you. _Jim's eyes narrowed in confusion. Molly, suddenly emboldened, looked him in the eyes. "She is going to grow up to be a strong, healthy human being. Nothing bad is going to happen to her." Jim cleared his throat and nodded. A drop of rain landed on Molly's lip. She licked it away and pushed her hair from her face. The rain began to fall steadily, and Jim glowered at the clouds. Molly followed his gaze, inhaling the smell of wet earth and wild grass.

"I looked for you for three years before I knew about Poppy," Jim said suddenly. Molly looked at him. "Then I-," he choked on his words. "I didn't want you to do it alone, I wanted…" His hand balled into a fist. He avoided her eye, searching for the right words. "I wanted to help."

"It's fine," Molly said curtly. Jim smiled without feeling.

"Everything I did, it was all for you." He wiped water away from his eyes. Molly couldn't breath. _Everything you did._ Her whole body seemed to turn to stone.

"What, you mean drugging, kidnapping, and almost killing me?" Her voice shook with fury. "I'm so grateful."

"Well, I mean-"  
"You mean the good parts," she interrupted. "The parties, the sex, trips to Paris and Berlin. Do you want me to just forget what happened? I had to leave my whole life behind because of you, and you want me to just forget it?"

"Molly, please." His face contorted with pain. "I only-"  
"No, Jim," her chest heaved. "I lost everything. You ruined me. I have nothing to give you anymore."

The rain poured on the pair in heavy sheets, splashing mud onto Jim's pants and Molly's boots. He stared at her in tortured silence. Jim's eyes darkened. Molly thought she saw a glimmer of shame, but it was quickly drowned out.

"I didn't want to lose you."

"Is that your excuse?" Molly shouted, taking a step towards him.

"Yes!" he shouted back. "I couldn't stand the thought of you leaving, so I had to make you stay! I couldn't protect you, I thought I could, but something always happened. I trusted you, then you got jealous and tried to stab me!"

"You were going to kill me!"

"Only after you decided to stab me!" He growled in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't think I had a choice."

Molly scoffed.

"Can't we just be square on that? We both tried to kill each other."

"It won't change anything." She shrugged hopelessly. "What do you want from me?"

"I love you."

She froze, her breath leaving her. "What?"

Jim's face was dripping with rain, the shoulders of his coat darkened. He rubbed his gloved hands together.

"I love you, Molly."

"You…" Molly's face burned. She swallowed. "You love me."

Molly could hardly breath. Her anger had evaporated and every thought vanished. The voice in the back of her head sneered, _He doesn't know what love is_.

"You love me?" She repeated. She stared at him, lost in her own confusion and surprise.

"I do," he said. His voice cracked. "I love you."

"But," she stammered. Five years worth of words rose and died on her lips. "After everything… I tried to kill you."

"So what? I probably deserved it." He shrugged. "It makes no difference."

"Why?" Tears began to form, then spilled over to mingle with the rain streaming down her face. "Why?"

"Why not?" He winked. "Until death do us part."

For a moment she considered running. If she turned away now, she could hide from him and his words. But she didn't. What Molly did next, she could never quite understand. She jumped forward, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him. He stumbled backward a few steps, then laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her heart surged back to life, years of cold isolation washed away in the rain. Jim spun her in a circle, his lips moving slowly, smiling and laughing.

"I love you," Molly breathed. She brushed her lips against his jaw, collecting the droplets of rain, and looking into his dark eyes; this was the man she had fallen in love with. He looked at her like Molly had always hoped he would, nothing hidden, nothing moving behind his eyes.

"Quite right, too." He grinned. He lifted her into his arms, his lips still locked with hers. His kiss brought warmth into her flesh. Their foreheads bumped together, Molly laughing through her tears, Jim savoring every second.


	7. Chapter 7

_"I wonder what might happen if I left this all behind,_

_Would the wind be at my back?_

_Could I get you off my mind?"_

* * *

_Two Years Previous_

Her voice kept him awake at night. Whispering into his ears, screaming his name until he could stand it no longer. He downed glass after glass of whiskey until his mind was sluggish and dim. It was the only way.

An unopened envelope lay on the desk, surrounded by empty glasses, cigarette buts, and a black pistol. The purest white paper stamped with a black embossed _W_. Jim stared at the pistol, devoid of emotion, then ripped the envelope open. A small note greeted him.

_This was all I could get my hands on. Good luck. -Irene._

He cast the note aside and pulled out a crisp, official looking document, covered in black type and spidery handwriting.

**Certificate of Birth**

**Name and Surname: Poppy Hooper**

**Date of Birth: 24 November**

**Mother: Molly Hooper**

**Father: Unknown**

Jim reached for a bottle of whiskey on the table and drank what was left. Then, with all his strength, he flung it at the wall. The glass shattered loudly, but Jim heard nothing. A dull roar drowned everything else out, but he could still hear Molly's voice. He screamed, pressing his hands to his temples. _Your daughter, Jim. Your daughter. Poppy._ He glanced at the pistol again. _I could do it for real this time._ An image of a child flashed before him, small and happy, with Molly's soft hair and chestnut eyes. He fell to his knees, landing on broken shards of glass. The pain was sharp, but he barely noticed it. He found his phone and dialed.

"Sebastian. We need to find her. I'm not giving up again."


	8. Chapter 8

_"The things that desire can make foolish people do."_

* * *

The pot of coffee bubbled loudly as Molly waited for it to finish. When it finally beeped, she reached into the cupboard above her to get mugs, and her hand brushed against something else. She peeked past the ceramic mugs and spied a large paper bag tucked in the corner. She grabbed it and pulled it out, frowning at the clinking of glass and swishing of liquid. Inside, were at least six bottles of Jameson Irish whiskey.

"You did not," Molly said to herself. She scoffed and set the bag on the table. She poured them, one by one, down the sink.

"What are you doing?" Jim appeared, just as Molly pulled the cork from the last bottle. He stood in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His mouth fell open when he noticed the empty bottles by the sink. "No, stop!" He jumped forward and pushed Molly to the side, wrenching the half-empty bottle from her hands. "What do you think you're doing?" He clutched the bottle to his chest, his eyes wide and wild.

"What do you think? You can't keep these here!"

Jim's mouth fell open and he held the bottle tighter. "You don't understand."

"Don't I?" She quickly swiped the bottle from his grasp and emptied it into the sink, holding him back with her arm and watching his face contort as the amber whiskey slipped away.

"Molly stop! You can't-" He reached around her, groping for the bottle. He grabbed her arm, overwhelming her with his strength, but it was too late. With a furious snarl, Jim slammed his fist against the countertop and stormed from the room. Molly took a deep breath and allowed herself a small smile before following him, a cup of hot, black coffee in her hands.

"How long have you been drinking like this, Jim?"

Jim groaned and rolled onto his back. He had collapsed on the couch and refused the coffee Molly had offered.

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"Why?"

"_Jim_."

"Am I in trouble?" Jim raised and eyebrow and tried to smile, but it quickly faltered. His shirt was drenched with sweat.

"Yes."

"Don't you have a child to take care of?"

"Yeah, and he's convinced himself that he is above my help." Molly folded her arms. Jim smirked and dropped his head onto the pillow. His face had lost most of its color.

"A while," he finally said. "A couple years."

"How much?"

"I don't know!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Half a dozen bottles a week!"

Molly dropped her head into her hands. "You are so stupid."

"Aw, thank you," Jim sneered. He pressed his palms to his forehead, straining his muscles to keep them from shaking. Molly had never seen Jim so weak. All the time she had known him, he had kept himself in constant good form, never showing a crack in his armor; Strong, but hiding weakness. Molly watched him writhe beneath the blanket for a moment. He pulled the covers over his head, shoved his face into a pillow, and screamed.

* * *

"What's wrong with him?" Poppy leaned over the kitchen table to peer at Jim's limp form sprawled across the couch. Molly rolled her eyes.

"He's being a drama queen."

"Oh," Poppy nodded, feigning understanding. She held out her hand to Molly, patiently watching her mother paint her tiny fingernails her favorite shade of green. Molly looked over her shoulder at Jim and frowned. She new enough about alcohol withdrawals to be beyond simply worried. _This is going to be hard._

* * *

Jim ripped the blanket from his burning skin and hurled it at the wall. _She'll kill me with kindness_, he thought. Every muscle and sinew in his body ached. Sleep evaded him, each time he closed his eyes his thoughts overwhelmed him. Now, he couldn't avoid them. He had nothing with which to drown them out.

In the corner of his eye, a shadow drifted across the room, passing effortlessly through the furniture. Jim squeezed his eyes shut until they ached. _Leave me alone._ Another shadow immerged from the wall. _You're not real._ Even in the darkness of Molly's small house, the shadows burned into Jim's mind. One, tall and slender, leaned towards his face.

"Leave me alone," Jim growled. The shadow remained, unaffected. Its head tilted as if deep in thought. "Get out!" Jim shouted and lunged forward, passing through the shadow and toppling from the couch. He lay on the floor for a moment, his hands pressed against his face. His shoulders trembled. _You are pathetic. Don't be stupid._ Jim peered through the gap between his fingers and sighed with relief. _Thank god._

A shadow plummeted from the ceiling, arms outstretched, and fell towards him. Jim threw his arms over his head, hearing his scream, but not feeling it tear from his throat.

There were hands around his wrists, pulling them down to his sides. He opened his eyes and the shadows vanished. The heat of Molly's eyes spread across his body. His breathing slowed, leaving his hands and arms trembling in her grip.

"Are you alright?" Molly folded his hands in his lap and pressed her cool hand over his cheek. "Jim? What's wrong?"

Jim shook his head. "Nothing."

Molly frowned. Her concern was written all over her face. Molly had always been an open book. She turned her slim body and seated herself next to him, leaning her back against the sofa. She said nothing. Jim thanked her silently. After a moment, Jim reached for Molly's hand and held it. He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. Jim took a long, shaky breath, and leaned his head against Molly's shoulder. No words passed between them. Jim let a tear slide past his eyelid, blessing the darkness for hiding it from Molly.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Feel, my skin is rough,_

_But it can be cleansed."_

* * *

"Poppy, go talk to him."

"I don't want to."

"Please, sweetheart-"

"You told me he was bad," Poppy interjected. She scrunched her brow and folded her arms tightly over her chest. "He's scary."

"I know what I said," Molly sighed. "But people change sometimes." Poppy fell backwards over her bed and stretched her arms over her head. Molly followed suit, aligning her body with Poppy's.

"You know, sometimes, grown-ups can be wrong about things." She raised her eyebrows at Poppy.

"No, they can't," she protested, but did not seem convinced. "Do they?"

"Yeah." Molly rolled onto her side and pinched Poppy's nose. "I know that I said he's bad, but he isn't. He's really sick right now, and he needs help. Why don't you go talk to him?"

Poppy nodded. Molly pulled her close for a hug. "Whenever you're ready, ok?" Poppy nodded into Molly's shoulder.

* * *

Molly licked the salty remains of her crisps from the tips of her fingers and strolled lazily into her bedroom. The empty bag still clutched in her hand, she approached her shelf of books and considered the volumes thoughtfully. _The Princess Bride, Bridget Jones, _and a smattering of Nicholas Sparks novels faced her, but none caught her attention. She had read them all before, experienced the happy endings and romances years ago. Finally, she gripped the spine of _Jane Eyre_ and pulled it from between the other Brontë works. _Mr. Rochester,_ she thought, amused. _Sounds good._

_"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day."_ Hardly through the first paragraph, Molly heard a muffled voice from the living room. She recognized Jim's deeper tones instantly. _Who's he talking to? _She tucked her book under her arm and tiptoed towards the sound.

She peeked around the corner and her mouth dropped open in disbelief; Jim, perched at one end of the couch, was reading aloud from the book in his hands, a battered and worn copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales. At the other end, her legs tucked up to her chest, was Poppy. She stared at Jim, listening attentively as he spoke. After listening for a moment, Molly recognized the story as _Hansel &amp; Gretel._ Jim paused and regarded Poppy thoughtfully.

"Do you like this story?"

Poppy nodded. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"'Dunno," she shrugged. "I'd like a house made of sweets." This made Jim laugh and Poppy responded with a small smile.

"Don't we all?" His brow furrowed and his jaw grew tense. He was masking his pain, Molly was certain, hiding it from Poppy. She seemed to take no notice. She twiddled her fingers together and wiggled her toes within her mismatched socks. Jim watched her, his eyebrows raised. After a moment, he shifted his weight and continued reading.

Molly's heart swelled almost to bursting. She stole back to her room and wrapped herself in her duvet. The words slipped away from her, drowned out by Jim's soft voice, his Irish accent peeking through to compliment the interjections of his daughter's Scottish tones.

* * *

"Rapunzel?"

"No."

"Cinderella?"

"No princesses."

"If you insist." The pages dragged against his thumb, producing a high-pitched hum and ruffling his hair slightly from the tiny breeze. Poppy pursed her lips impatiently. From her perch on the chair across the room, Molly pretended to be engrossed in her own book. She peeked up at Jim and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his frustration.

"What kind of story _do_ you want then?"

Poppy wiggled her toes and shrugged. Jim flipped a few more pages and stopped.

"What about queens?"

Poppy nodded quickly. Molly could not help staring at them. This exchange had become routine in the past few days; every night before bed, Poppy asked him politely to read to her, and he agreed. She kept herself contained to the opposite end of the couch, and he respected her distance.

When he finished reading, Poppy whispered a thank you and scuttled to her bedroom, shutting herself away with her private thoughts. Molly thumped her book closed and waited for Jim to speak.

He didn't meet her eye, but the corners of his lips lifted slightly.

"So," he said, stretching his arms.

"So," Molly replied. She drummed her fingers against the cover of her book. She couldn't help staring at his arms, watching the tiny hairs stick up from the cold.

"Do you want to sleep in the bed tonight?" Molly's brow furrowed with concern.

Jim shook his head. "I'll stay here," he answered. He rubbed his head slowly, as if willing the pain in his head to subside. "So you can sleep."

Molly nodded and left the room. She hoped he could not see her eyes. Neither of them could make it through the night.

* * *

A wave of nausea racked Jim's body. His shirt clung to him, but he stubbornly refused to take it off. He jammed his head into the pillow, gritting his teeth. He didn't have to look to know that the shadows were there, patiently waiting for his attention. One tall and lean, hands raised to its chin as if in prayer, the other shorter, barley taller than a child.

_Fucking Carl Powers_. Jim could almost laugh. Another wave of sickness prevented him from doing just that. He sat up suddenly and looked around.

_Where am I?_ The darkness hid any identifying features of the room. His memories slipped from his grasp, but danced just out of reach, taunting him. _Where's Molly?_

The taller shadow stepped towards him, bent down, and peered into his face. Jim threw himself away, jamming his back against the hard arm of the couch. He clutched his head with his hands.

"You're not here," he said aloud. "You're not." His voice wavered. The shadow's head tilted skeptically. Behind it, the smaller one began to shake. Tremors shook its body, convulsing and retching, until it finally collapsed to the floor. _A pity, that eczema._

"That's what you get," Jim sneered through his pain. Carl Powers, child's play.

"Jim?"

His heart seized with fear. They'd never spoken before. "Stop," he demanded. He looked around wildly. He felt a hand on his arm and jerked away. "Stop it!"

"Jim, it's me!"

Her face swam in front of him.

"Molly," he said flatly. "What's-" he choked on his words. "I can't tell what's real."

She was in front of him then, her hands pressing against his chest. "I'm real," she whispered. "Look at me."

Jim could not tear his eyes away from the shadow behind her. It drifted towards Molly, its long hand rising towards her shoulder and resting there. Jim's face grew hot, and his heart pounded within his chest like a caged animal.

"Jim," Molly was saying, "You need to breathe slowly." The ghostly hand slid from her shoulder, inching down her back. The other hand draped over Molly's cheek. She did not react.

"Can't you feel it?" Jim croaked. "How can you not see it?"

"Just focus on me," she said. A long finger traced her lip. Jim tried to lean forward to push it away, but Molly forced him back. "You're dehydrated, drink some water." She pressed a glass against his lips. He accepted it without protest, his eyes still locked on the apparition. As Molly poured the cold water through his lips, the shadow knelt beside her. A stray lock of hair fell from her loose ponytail. The ghostly hand lifted to brush it back, its head curving to meet hers…

"Molly." He leaned forward and some water spilled down his chin. "Molly, look." Fear shook through his voice.

Her brow knitted in confusion. "What?" She brushed the loose hair back behind her ear. The moment her hand met the shadow's, it vanished. The long ghost-like limbs stretching thin like the tendrils of smoke from a dying fire until there was nothing left. Jim's jaw fell. _Just like that?_

"What's wrong?"

"I…" He looked back and forth from Molly to the vacant space next her. It made sense. "No, its ok," he said. He looked into Molly's eyes. "I'll be ok."

Molly raised an eyebrow. She shifted her weight away from him and he panicked. "Wait," he grabbed her arm weakly. "Stay with me."

Molly nodded and set the glass on the floor. "Yeah. Ok, I will." He made room for her and she sat beside him, her legs tucked beneath her.

"Can't sleep either?" Jim looked at his hands.

"No," Molly admitted. He looked up at her. He didn't smile, offer her advice, or express pity. She didn't want it. Instead, he took her took her pale hand his and rubbed his thumb over her smooth skin. Molly watched it peacefully, struggling to keep her eyelids from drooping closed.

"Please tell me you're going to be ok."

"As long as you're here," he said. "You and Poppy, you're the only things keeping me from putting a bullet in my mouth."

"I understand."

Jim pushed away and frowned at her. Molly shrugged, her face set in resigned acceptance.

"You're not the only one who thought about it."


	10. Chapter 10

_"We hide our emotions under the surface and try to pretend._

_But it feels like there's oceans between you and me, once again."_

* * *

It struck Molly, as she was pushing thick slices of bread into the toaster, how little she really new about Jim. In the short time she'd known him, they had exchanged few words on his life before he established himself as a criminal for hire. He had seemed to know more about her than she did herself, so they had left the subject untouched.

"You're Irish," Molly blurted. Jim looked up from his own toast, smothered in black currant jam.

"What else is new?"

Molly mentally scolded herself and turned her back to him, jamming the lever of the toaster down with frustrated force. "Easy there," Jim laughed through a mouthful of toast.

"Well," Molly huffed, turning to face him again. "I just thought that…" She tripped over her words. "I don't know anything about you."

"Is that so."

"Yes," Molly insisted. "I don't know anything about your childhood, your family, anything before we met."

Jim slowly placed his toast onto his plate. She watched his eyes change. A door closed behind them, hastily shutting her from what lie beyond. His jaw muscles twitched.

"You don't need to know," he said finally. His anger was cold, rather than his usual hot fury. There was obvious pain in his voice masked by an effort to feign control.

"I do-"

"Friendly warning," he interrupted, his voice suddenly deeper, "Don't ask me again."

Molly inhaled sharply to reply, but was caught off guard by a flurry of motion; Poppy barreled into the room and threw herself against Molly's legs. A laugh escaped Jim as Molly stumbled backwards. She glared at him. _I am not done with you._

"Morning, Poppy." Molly patted the tangled mess of dark brown hair. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, please," Poppy cooed. She chanced a peek at Jim, seated at the table. He winked and Poppy giggled. The dark circles under his eyes had faded somewhat, and the color was beginning to return to his face. Molly wondered absently about his blood pressure, but she could not shake the thought that there was something hiding beneath what met the eye.

* * *

"Let me help." Jim leaned over her shoulder and watched her stir a pot of soup.

"No, not until you talk to me."

"I am, I'm talking right now." He reached for a chunk of sausage amongst the vegetables, but Molly slapped his hand away.

"You know what I mean, Jim."

"You're wasting your breath. Are those turnips?"

"Get out of my kitchen!"

Jim threw his hands up in frustration.

"Turnips are rubbish!" He shouted spitefully. Molly watched him storm from the kitchen and felt her lips purse. _Just keep at it, there's only so much he can take._

* * *

"What's your name?"

"James."

"No, your whole name."

"James Moriarty."

"You don't have a middle name?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I suppose my parents thought my name was already perfect." Jim nudged Poppy with his elbow. She shrugged, accepting it without comment. _She let him touch her,_ Molly thought, surprised. He really was making progress.

"You talk funny."

"I know," Jim sighed forlornly. "The curse of the Irish."

Poppy spooned a chunk of potato into her mouth. "Irish," she mumbled as she chewed. "Ireland." She intoned the word with curious delight. "Is that where your mum and dad live?"

Jim's mouth twitched. There was a long moment of weighted silence. Molly felt the static with discomfort, but Poppy was blissfully unaware. Jim nodded and croaked, "Yeah, that's where they live."

For a moment, Molly watched him flex and unflex his fists. She reached for his arm, but stopped when Poppy spoke again.

"Should I call you Dad?"

Jim's mouth fell open in a perfect 'o'.

"I…" he swallowed. He quickly regained his composure. A smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, but he restrained it and looked at Poppy seriously. "Only if you want to."

"Alright," Poppy said happily. She jumped to her feet and skipped to her room, already moving on to more important matters.

"That was unexpected."

"You know," Molly said, folding her arms tightly across her chest, "She's going to keep asking you questions."

"So what."

"What will you say?"

"Does it matter?" He screwed up his face and leaned back in his chair. He fell into silent contemplation.

"Jim," Molly prodded. "When will you stop pretending?"

"I'm a good actor, why stop now?"

"This isn't a joke," Molly stated firmly.

"Please," he sneered. "Everything's a joke."

Molly let her hurt bleed through. "Why can't you tell me? What have I done to make you not trust me?"

"Fine," Jim said shortly. His smile was disarming, and Molly was taken aback. There was no humor, but neither was their anger. Molly only saw pain. "If you want to talk about it, we'll talk about it."

* * *

"So, Dublin." Molly cast her eyes away from Jim's. He didn't speak until she looked up again.

"Yeah." Jim paced around the room, stopping in front of the window, drifting to the chair, then back again. There was a minute of silence, Jim's eyes clouded in thought, and Molly prodded, "Tell me about your parents."

He seemed to deflate, grow smaller and smaller, then drew from some hidden reserve of strength. _When was the last time he thought about them?_ Molly wondered.

"My mum's name was Marian," he began. He turned his back to her and stared at the window. "She came from money, a rich Catholic family from Dublin. She married down, I suppose."

"Your dad?"

"Cormac Moriarty. He worked in Dublin. I don't know how they met. Doesn't really matter. He wasn't posh, so mum's parents cut her off." He paused. "She was good. He… he wasn't. He was…" He faced Molly again and sneered. "Let's just say that he was an old fashioned Irish bastard."

"Ok," Molly said quietly. "Did he…" She couldn't bring herself to finish.

"Did he hit me?" His voice was edged with venom. "All the time. Had to teach me the ways of the world." He forced a laugh, but it was hollow and fell flat.

Suddenly, a flood of memories overwhelmed Jim's thoughts. He saw his father, muscular and strong jawed, throwing back glass after glass of whiskey while his mother frowned with disapproval. He saw his sister, so young and innocent, cowering beneath their father's glare.

"Janine," he whispered.

"Janine?"

"My sister." Jim's chest felt raw and empty, like a cannon had been shot through him. "She's younger than me." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She was at John's wedding."

"What?" Molly frowned with confusion, then her mouth dropped open. "She was a bridesmaid! That was your sister?" Jim nodded. Molly thought back to the wedding. She could see the resemblance. They had the same round, deep eyes, dark hair, and even the same Irish brogue. _Why didn't I see this before?_

"Haven't seen her in a while," Jim was saying. He closed his eyes and pictured her, so small. She was fragile, but fierce. "Baby Janine…"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Jim rubbed his arms self-consciously. "She handled things much better than I did."

"What do you mean?" Molly felt the tension in the air heighten. Jim was holding back. "Jim, what happened?"

"I…" he mumbled. His hands began to tremble, and he sat down next to Molly. His knee brushed against hers. "He hit her," he said quietly. "He hit Janine. He usually just hit me, but one day he got more pissed than usual, and Janine was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Molly placed her hand on his shoulder. Her blood began to run cold. This wasn't what she had anticipated.

"I couldn't let him do that to her, she was just a kid." His voice was wavering with anger. The pressure he had built up inside him was beginning to release, and he was having trouble controlling it. He spoke faster, angrier. "He knocked her down, gave her a bloody nose. I'd just gotten home, from God knows where. I pushed him away. He knocked me back into the kitchen, so I grabbed the first thing I found." He reached forward, reliving the moment. Molly glimpsed tears in his eyes. "It was a kitchen knife. I stabbed him right in the back." His hand fell, his voice harldy more than a hoarse whisper. "So he couldn't hurt us anymore." He nodded to himself. A tear slipped down his cheek and he wiped it away angrily.

"You killed him?" Molly could barely speak. She imagined Jim as a child, blood on his hands, standing over the body of his father.

"Yeah," he said simply. "He deserved it." He looked at her, his face twisted with anger, and said, "I don't regret it, Molly. You know what I'm like. I only wish I hadn't gotten my hands dirty." His eyes fell to the floor. Molly believed him. He didn't regret it, and she didn't expect him to.

"What about you're mum?"

"She helped us hide the body. All she had to do was tell people he'd run off. In the end it was easy." He scoffed. "It was easy."

"Jim…" Molly didn't know what to say.

"A few years later," Jim went on, "I went to school, where I met _Carl fucking Powers,_" he spat. "Then I went to London. I hadn't seen her or Janine in years. When I came home, she was…."

_'What's going on?'_

_'I'm sorry, Jim.'_

"There was a fire."

_'Where is she? Janine, where's mum? TELL ME!'_

Jim's throat closed on his words. He had screamed until his voice was gone that day, wouldn't let Janine touch him.

"I'd made sure no one could contact me, so I hadn't heard…. I didn't know…."

"She died," Molly whispered. She instantly regretted saying it, but Jim nodded, unaffected. "I'm so sorry."

Before Jim could say more, Molly's arms were around him. She pulled him close and he grabbed her. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and his hand grasped at the back of her shirt. _There. I said it,_ he thought. His tears fell onto Molly's shirt. "Thank you," he murmured.

"For what?"

"For making me tell you."

"No, its ok."

He inhaled shakily. "I'm just a man, after all."

"No, you're not," Molly whispered. "If you were just a man, we wouldn't be together, would we?"


	11. Chapter 11

_"Hold your breath and count to ten._

_Feel the earth move and then_

_Hear my heart burst again."_

* * *

Hot water cascaded down Molly's bare back and she flinched. She braced herself, bowed her neck, then turned so it fell on her chest instead. Her mouth fell open and she inhaled sharply._ Just let it all go,_ she told herself.

A muffled clatter penetrated the bathroom walls, and she thought she heard Jim swear. _This is what you get when you let him cook._ Molly smiled to herself. Thankfully, Poppy was at school; if she hadn't been, Jim would have punched himself for swearing in front of her.

She began humming to herself, some song she'd found on Jim's phone when he wasn't looking. She didn't doubt that he knew what she was doing, but he let her think she was being clever. She couldn't remember the words, so she hummed the jazzy tune to herself.

Her thoughts drifted to and fro, moving lazily between Jim's smile and thoughts of Poppy. They were so much alike. This was everything she wanted: A nice house, the man she loved, and her beautiful, intelligent, perfect daughter. _I'd like to go back to work though,_ she thought forlornly. When was the last time she had examined a corpse, or even glanced at a medical book? Far too long. There weren't a lot of opportunities for an experienced pathologist in the small towns around their secluded home. But in a bigger city, with hospitals and criminals creating plenty of work for her… Witness protection wouldn't allow it. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. _What if they know about Jim? They're watching, how can they not?_ She clapped a hand to her mouth.

_We can't stay here. We have to leave._

* * *

"Fucking cheese!" Jim was hunched over the stove, muttering and swearing to himself over the crackling of hot butter in the frying pan.

"Something I can do for you?" Molly smiled and Jim shot her a frustrated look over his shoulder. His spine protruded from his back in sharp relief.

"I've got this, thank you very much." He turned back to his work and loosed a sting of profanity. "Fuck!"

A foul smell reached her and she crinkled her nose in disgust. She took a seat at the table, pulling her jumper down to cover her kitten-printed sleeping shorts. Finally, Jim placed a plate before her; with a slightly charred mess of what looked like eggs, cheese, and some kind of meat.

"Well?" He waited expectantly, his hands on his hips and his eyebrow raised. Molly took it gingerly and raised it to her mouth. The charred egg crumbled in her mouth, and she struggled to keep it down. She placed her fork on the plate delicately.

"What is it?"

"Its an omelette." Jim's shoulders slumped.

"Oh."

They both stared at the mess on her plate. "Well. That's it for cooking then. I'm the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, this is bloody ridiculous." Jim scooped up the plate and let the burnt mess slide into the garbage.

Molly sat back in her chair, biting her lip. Jim bustled around the kitchen, putting dishes away and boiling water for tea. He gave her ponytail a slight tug. She jumped.

"What?"

"What's on your mind?" He frowned when she said nothing. "Molly, its painful how obvious it is when you don't want to tell me something. Just spit it out."

"I think we should leave."

Jim blinked. "Leave?"

Molly nodded. Jim's face became serious, and he took the seat across the table. "Care to elaborate?"

"I don't think its safe here," Molly said, "Not anymore." For a split second Molly imagined suited men breaking down their door. She saw Jim face down on the floor with a gun pointed at his head, someone wrenching Poppy from her arms and slapping handcuffs on her wrists. "I don't want anything to happen, to you or Poppy or-"

"Nothing's going to happen. I won't allow anything to happen." Jim paused. His eyes narrowed and he twisted his head to stare at her intently. "Molly."

Molly avoided his gaze. Her hands began to tremble, so she folded them together and pressed them against the table. "I know what they'll do if they find out about us."

"Alright." He rubbed his chin, making quiet scraping noises against the dark stubble. "Any specific place you had in mind?"

"No," Molly admitted reluctantly. "Nowhere that they couldn't find us."

Jim's eyes suddenly became sharper. He met Molly's eyes and frowned. He seemed on the verge of saying something he really didn't want to. He bit his lip, then shook his head. "If you want to go, we'll go."

A weight lifted from Molly's chest. "Thank you."

"But it has to be soon. Within the next few days, soon."

"Alright." Molly grinned. "We'll have to tell Poppy."

"Tell her it's an adventure." Jim grinned and Molly's heart leapt.

"Thank you." She stood up and embraced him. "Thank you so much."

"Oh please," he said. "Don't get all gooey heart eyes on me." Molly wriggled from his grasp and kissed him. He groaned, then laughed and pulled her close again. She stood her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. He moaned, almost a growl, and bit down on her lip.

"How long until Poppy gets home?" He slipped his hands under Molly's shirt. His cold hands moved slowly along her back. Molly shivered.

"She won't be back until three."

"Thank god." Jim grabbed Molly's legs and pulled her up around his waist. She smiled, her heartbeat accelerating, and held onto him tightly. His kisses grew rougher, teeth and tongue, his grip around her squeezing the breath from her lungs. Slowly, he carried her towards the bedroom.

His teeth left marks on her arms, neck, and lips. She felt his legs bump against the bed and he tossed her onto the duvet. Molly reached for the headboard and pulled herself back, then watched Jim rip off his baggy t-shirt and jeans. When he was rid of his clothes, he jumped onto the bed. He pulled off her jumped, then began to work her cotton shorts, inch by inch, down her thin legs.

Jim ran his hand over her stomach and leaned in close, running his lips over her jaw and back to her lips. Molly's arched her back, pressing her hips against his.

He bit her lip, harder this time, and pushed her back down with his hip.

"You're about to experience the wrath of a god."

* * *

"Good?"

Molly nodded her head tiredly against Jim's chest. She could feel him grin with satisfaction.

"Jim…"

"Hm?"

"What about Germany?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"I don't know though. Poppy…." Molly's mind, sluggish and tired, moved slowly across the map to different cities. Each one presented its problems, and each was rejected. "I want Poppy to be somewhere safe, so she can grow up like a normal person."

Jim laughed. "She's not normal, I mean, look at us."

"You know what I mean." Molly flopped back onto Jim's chest. "We should at least go somewhere they speak English."

"That doesn't really leave a lot of options."

"I don't know what else to do."

Jim sat up, rolling Molly off his chest and jumped off the bed. "Let's stop wasting time here and go do something." He stretched his arms over his head and smiled. "When Poppy gets back, we'll ask her."

Molly sat up and beamed at him. "That's…" She stared at him, slightly surprised. "That's a perfect idea."

"I know." He winked, then turned to his closet, freshly stocked with suits and ties of all colors. "Let's go have some fun tonight, then we'll talk about it when we get back." He pulled out a steel grey blazer and held it to his chest. "Yes? No?"

"Sure," she said, smiling. "I'd like that."

* * *

Molly peeked at her reflection in the window and straightened the strap of her dress. She paused and listened to Jim humming from the bedroom as he perused his wardrobe. She bit her lip to stifle her laugh, and checked the time on Jim's phone, left carelessly close to the edge of the coffee table. The babysitter would be there soon to look after Poppy; some local teenager she had found online.

She could hardly contain her excitement. They were going to the only restaurant in town, then they would be escaping the jaws of the British government, of Mycroft, to be happy somewhere else. Molly hadn't gotten this dressed up since before Poppy was born._ Tonight is going to be perfect, _she thought gleefully. She spun on her heel and let herself forget everything that lay heavy in her mind drift away; The past, the future, everything that could go wrong slipped into nothing, leaving only her excitement and the echo of Jim's laugh behind. Her eyes closed and she hugged herself. _We're so close to being free…_

The doorbell clanged and Molly's eyes snapped open.

"That the babysitter?" Jim called from the other room.

"Yeah," Molly called back. She checked the time again and pulled the door open to let her in. "You're early-"

"Molly."

Molly's heart collapsed. A gust of frigid wind pushed past the figure in the door and swept the smile from her face.

"Sherlock." She gripped the doorknob until her knuckles went white. "You can't be here."

"I just…" Sherlock looked down at her with surprised confusion. "I came to see…. See how you were doing. If you were well." He flexed his gloved hands and frowned. His eyes roamed over her, lingering on her dress and makeup. He blinked, and his brow furrowed. "Are you going out?"

"Um, no, I…" She stammered. Her mind scrambled for some sort of explanation, but none surfaced. She cast her eyes to the floor and tried to control her breathing. _This isn't happening._ Before she could protest, he had pushed past her and slammed the door shut.

"Wait, stop-"

"Someone's here, Molly," he sneered. His gaze swept over every corner of the room, catching on Jim's phone, then the sweater draped across the back of the sofa. "Met someone special, have you?" His tone was biting, and Molly's face burned with shame.

The door of the bedroom clicked open, and Jim appeared in the doorway, a silk tie in each hand. He held them up to his chest. "What do you think, love?"

Sherlock turned to face him, his mouth twisted in a mocking smile.

"And here he is, the man of the hour-" Their eyes met and Sherlock froze. Jim's smile fell, then his hands dropped to his sides. His eyes flicked to Molly's. A smirk twisted across his lips. Sherlock's mouth fell open.

"You." He took a step back, looking wildly back and forth between Jim and Molly. She looked up at him and choked when she saw the betrayal in his eyes. "This whole time, you've been hiding with _him_?" Sherlock's voice cracked. Molly said nothing. "**_WITH HIM?_**" He roared. Molly jumped.

"Yes, I-"

Sherlock shook his head and stormed towards Jim. "What do you think you're doing here? This isn't you, this is a trick isn't it?"

Jim remained silent, his eyebrow raised and his smirk deepening. Sherlock snarled furiously.

"Answer me!"

A door slammed and Molly's heart panged again. Poppy appeared, her face white with fear, and ran to Jim's side.

"Dad," she cried, reaching up to him. Jim smiled and lifted her in his arms. Poppy glanced at Sherlock fearfully and buried her face in Jim's shoulder.

Sherlock's eyes burned with fury. "You-" He stammered, his eyes fluttering wildly from Poppy to Jim's smirking face.

Jim looked over Sherlock's shoulder, straight into Molly's eyes. He winked. Sherlock followed his gaze, caught Molly's reluctant smile, and laughed coldly. "Sentiment? Really?" He reached into his pocket and produced his phone. "I'd never thought you'd let someone get to you." As he dialed his phone, Molly glanced around her desperately, scanning the furniture for something helpful. She had to do something, she couldn't let Sherlock call Mycroft, let him ruin everything.

"This is really quite disappointing," Sherlock was saying. He raised the phone to his ear. He turned away from Jim to sneer at Molly. "I hope you're happy-"

"**_I AM!_**"

From the end table nearest her, Molly grabbed a vase, raised it, and smashed it over Sherlock's head. It shattered noisily, sending pieces of porcelain hurtling through the air.

The phone slipped from Sherlock's hand, and with a final expression of dazed betrayal, he fell to the floor. A trickle of blood ran down over his ear.

"Shit," Jim breathed. Poppy squirmed, and he held her tighter.

She stared at Sherlock's face, still etched with anger. "I'm fine," she said. She looked at Jim, and smiled at his bewilderment. He stepped over Sherlock's body and took Molly's hand.

"That was exciting."

A light caught Molly's eye, and she saw Sherlock's phone on the floor. The call was connected, and a tiny voice shouted through it, instantly recognizable as that of Mycroft Holmes.

"_Sherlock! Are you there? For god's sake, someone get over there now!"_

Jim squeezed Molly's hand, and she nodded. Poppy looked up, and Jim planted a small kiss on her forehead.

"Where do you want to go, Poppy?" She beamed at him, her eyes glowing with excitement.

Molly opened the front door, and they walked together into the darkness towards Jim's car.


	12. Chapter 12

_"But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,_

_Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,_

_For I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,_

_Oh, Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so._

* * *

The tip of the sun had just crested the horizon of chimneys and rooftops when the car pulled to a stop in front of a line of brick homes, giving the red and white front a softened and eerie glow. Molly stepped out of the car, Poppy sleeping in her arms, and gazed at the house before her thoughtfully. It was slightly larger than the rest, grander and more old-fashioned, but looked unkempt and slightly abandoned.

Jim shut the drivers door softly, his eyes on his sleeping daughter. He wrapped his coat tighter around his shoulders and forced himself to look up at the unlit windows and ice-crusted garden of the structure before him.

"My grandparent's house," he said quietly. "They left it to me when they died."

Molly nodded, though she knew he wasn't looking at her. He had eyes only for the house. He cleared his throat, then lead Molly to the front door.

Though the rooms and halls were mostly empty aside from a few tables and chairs covered in sheets, Molly was charmed by the house. Jim stood just behind her as she surveyed the rooms, keeping his thoughts to himself, waiting for her to arrive at some conclusion.

"I like it," she said finally. Jim shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Molly closed her eyes and pictured it: Poppy running through the halls, sunlight through the windows, everything she wanted. "It's perfect."

Jim smiled with relief. Molly leaned closer to him, and he kissed her cheek softly. "There's a hospital nearby, and some good schools. It's a nice neighborhood." He cleared his throat again and his voice deepened. "They won't find us here. I've made sure."

"What about you?" Molly asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll have plenty to do, don't worry about me." He reached for Poppy and slipped the sleeping child into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Molly smiled. "Are you happy?" Jim whispered.

"Yes," Molly grinned. "I'm happy."

Jim smiled, unable to contain his own joy. "Welcome to Dublin, Molly."

Poppy stirred and opened her eyes. Jim brushed back her hair and tapped her nose. "You too, Poppy."


End file.
